Mother
Sitting and smiling out on the world
is the little old lady in grey;
wondering alone at the beauty unfurled
by the memories passing her way.
She's got a face that I'll remember ---
yet one of a thousand kind ---
set in the dawn of September,
with eyes that are helpless and blind.
Soft greying hair round the edge,
that is turning to silver with time;
but her heart is much more than a pledge,
for it's laced through with gold, and it's mine.
Face wrinkled with lines and age,
and yet, always smiling, you see
a proud lady as wise as a sage,
as only a mother can be.
For three score years she's watched me
with my many changing faces;
praise given where praise ought to be ---
then told me where my place is.
It's really wonderful, you know,
for your mother, you will find,
stays on to liven up the show;
there's no other quite her kind..
© 1966 : Colin Gordon-Farleigh
No comments:
Post a Comment